Sea without a shore
by ricklionheart
Summary: Set in the With No Moonlight AU. A night that seemed to be the end of all hope for a stray slave leads to an encounter with someone who will save him. slave!Blaine


**AN:** Good news, everyone! I'm here again with another one shot. This is based on the marvelous work of the fantastic WasteNoTime, a slave!Blaine fic entitled With No Moonlight

s/9331702/1/With-No-Moonlight. If you haven't, I really recommend you go read it now, that girl is awesome! She was so kind to let me write down a whole fic based on an event she mentioned in chapter 8. I just hope I managed to do her justice. The events in this fic do not constitute an official chapter of the story and the scene at the end is set before chapter 33. The title is from the wonderful Nightwish song The Islander, as I felt it somehow tied to the "with no moonlight" concept. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this fic, and please remember to leave a review if you feel like doing that and feel free to point out any mistakes or make any critics, as long as they are constructive. Thank you for reading!

"Watch where you go, you filthy rat!" barked a man in a black coat as the boy accidentally bumped on his shoulder.

Before Blaine could apologize, the man shoved him angrily, causing him to lose his balance and fall on the sidewalk. He groaned in pain as he hit the concrete and tried to get up on his knees.

He raised his head to see some people staring at him as they passed by: some looked at him with disgust, others seemed bothered as if he was some insect. None of them was going to help him anyway.

Blaine stood slowly on his feet and resumed walking towards his destination. He wrapped his arms around himself in a weak attempt to protect his thin body from the cold wind. He was wearing only a pair of worn-out jeans and a T-shirt that was too big for him, and the sidewalk, chilly from the December air, felt like thousands of needles against his bare soles at every step he took.

People backed away as he passed near them and parents pressed their children to their bodies as if the slave boy could assault them any moment.

As he turned the corner he finally came in sight of his destination: the church stood out against the moonlit sky, the bell tower like a spear pointed towards the heavens and the windows glowing with a dim light.

Blaine ran to the door sas fast as his weakened body allowed him and knocked gently, yet making sure to be heard. Seconds later he heard steps coming from the other side and a man with dark skin opened the door.

Blaine smiled and moved to go in but stopped just before colliding with the pastor.

The slave raised his eyes in surprise and he met the pastor's face, which was set in a strange expression.

"Excuse me, Sir, did I do something wrong?" he asked, not understanding the situation. The pastor had always let him sleep inside the church so far.

"I'm sorry, boy, I cannot let you come in here" the man said, his voice icy. Although he had just apologized it was clear that he had little remorse.

Blaine's eyes widened in terror. "W-What?... Why?"

"Some people have complained about a slave sleeping in a sacred place" the pastor explained.

"B-But I… I have nowhere to go" the slave uttered.

The man simply shrugged. "I'm sorry" he repeated.

"No, p-please, let me stay just for tonight. They'll never know, I'll go somewhere else tomorrow, just please…"

"They threatened to stop giving offers to the church if I let you stay any longer" the pastor interrupted him without losing his temper. "We need that money. I'm sorry, boy, I cannot risk it. Goodbye".

The man went to close the door but Blaine blocked it with his body. Tears were pooling in his eyes. "Please… please, it's Christmas time. I know I'm just a slave, but it's so cold outside and…" He couldn't hold it anymore and the tears began streaming down his cheeks. "I thought this was the house of God. I beg you, please… I don't want to die" he sobbed in desperation.

For a single moment he thought he saw a look of pity flash through the pastor's face, but a second later his face turned into a mask of rage. The man violently shoved him out of the doorframe.

"You don't have the right to ask for that!" he shouted at the slave boy, who was trembling from fear and cold. "A thing as low as you that couldn't even serve his masters properly doesn't deserve anything. There is no God for you!" With that, he threw the door shut with a loud bang.

Blaine stared at the treshold as if expecting to wake from this nightmare at any moment, but that didn't happen. As if to confirm the harsh reality, some minutes later white snowflakes began to fall from the dark sky, landing on the bare skin of the slave's arms and feet and biting it angrily.

Finally realizing that he wouldn't find any shelter there and shaking violently, the boy turned on his heels and began to look for a place that would give him a chance to survive the night.

The snowy streets were now almost empty and the slave roamed until his bare feet couldn't stand the pain from the icy ground anymore. Blaine looked around and saw two trash containers in an alley nearby.

He dragged himself in between them and sat down on the cold concrete, drawing his knees to his chest: the containers shielded him a little from the furious wind but he couldn't almost feel his toes anymore.

His thoughts returned to the face of the pastor, contorted in anger, and he sobbed hard as tears resumed to fall.

_Why does this world have to be so cruel?_ he thought. Memories of the past Christmas came flowing through his mind: a lit, warm fireplace, a table full of treats, a beautiful decorated tree… The lovely embrace of his family.

_It's all gone _he thought sobbing heavier. _I have lost all that and it's never coming back. I am alone. Nobody loves me anymore._

He was startled awake from his thoughts by some nearing voices. Voices that, judging from their pitched, belonged to teenagers. And Blaine knew them too well.

_No, oh God, no! _he silently prayed as he started to shiver more violently with fear. _Please, don't let it be _them_!_

He tried to stand on his feet but he was too weak and the cold air had stiffened his limbs, so his attemp failed and he ended up falling against a trash container with a loud noise.

Seconds later some figures appeared at the alley's entrance, their faces unrecognizable as they stood with their backs to the lights and their shadows extending on the concrete.

"Well, well, well…" a jock with dark skin said with a grin on his face. "What have we here? If it isn't old smelly-ass" he mocked, slowly walking towards the slave boy.

Blaine gazed at him in terror and tried his best to lift himself on his arms and get away.

He gasped when a kick suddenly reached his stomach, causing the slave boy to fall again and cough violently.

"Are you still alive, you filthy slave? Didn't we order you to throw yourself off a bridge?" asked the boy who had just hit Blaine. His mates laughed, except for one, as Blaine noticed, who looked at the slave boy with concern.

"Come on, guys, leave him alone" he said. "We can play Call of Duty at my place if we hurry up".

"Oh, this is better than any game. It's such a shame Hudson and Karofsky aren't here now, they would have loved this" the dark-skinned jock answered in delight, looking down to Blaine as if he was a prey. "And besides, you used the wrong pronoun. What's with you treating slaves like people, Puckerman?" he asked.

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, slaves _are _people, Azimio" the other boy retorted. As he stepped forward the lights gave a better view of him and Blaine saw that his hair was styled in a mohawk. He didn't remember ever seeing him before.

A moment later the slave felt his hair being pulled harshly, forcing him to raise his head and show his face.

"So you have some problem with us giving this little scumbag a lesson?" Azimio asked slyly.

Puckerman's eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare lay a finger on him" he whispered in a threatening voice.

Azimio raised his fist. "Just stand and watch!"

Blaine's teary eyes found Puckerman's. "Please…" he murmured before closing them and waiting for the blow.

The slave winced when he heard a loud smacking noise, but a second later he realized he didn't feel any pain. In that same moment the grip on his hair loosened and he fell on his knees. He opened his eyes to see Puckerman towering over him, his fist extended. Turning around, Blaine saw Azimio a few steps away, his hands covering his face: there was blood running through his fingers.

"I warned you" Puckerman hissed.

Azimio growled and the other boys behind Puck moved to reach him. The mohawked boy turned around and defied them: "Come on! I can take all of you at once! Who wants to be the first to lose some teeth?"

The boys stopped at the same time, looking at Azimio as if waiting orders from him. He stared at Blaine with hate in his eyes for a few moments, then he snorted and shook his head.

"It's not worth it guys. Let's go!" he stated reaching his mates. Before they left, he turned to his new enemy. "You have made a big mistake, Puckerman. You'll regret it".

Puck didn't say anything as he watched them leave. When he was sure they were far away, he bent towards the slave boy.

"Are you okay?" he asked in a gentle voice which contrasted with his tough appearance.

Blaine looked at him and nodded slightly. "Thank you for protecting me, Sir" he said in a low voice, adding the appellative just to be sure. "I'm sorry you fought with your friends because of me".

"None of that" Puck responded with a smile. "I'm Noah, but you can call me Puck. And they're not my friends anymore so I don't regret it. Not a big loss" he shrugged.

"Well, thank you… Puck" Blaine said, smiling back.

"And what's your name?" asked the other boy.

"Blaine" answered the slave.

"You look pretty cold, Blaine" Puck noticed. "Do you have a place to stay?"

Blaine shook his head sadly and Puck patted his shoulder in a comforting manner.

"Hey, hey, don't be like that. I know a place where you would be safe. Would you like me to show you?"

Blaine perked up hearing those words but he considered he should be wary. He still couldn't be sure that it wasn't all a trick set up by the jocks.

"You know stray slaves cannot be taken in by other people, right?" the slave boy asked.

Puck laughed. "Don't be so fast, we have known each other for five minutes only. You should at least call first".

Blaine blushed. "That's not what I meant, I don't want to… Not that you're ugly, but I…"

"Wait, so you actually like guys?" Puck asked, chuckling when Blaine nodded cautiously. The slave boy relaxed at his reaction. "That's quite interesting, I've never had a gay friend before. And mind it, I said friend, not boyfriend".

Puck frowned when Blaine didn't laugh at his joke but he couldn't hold back a smile as he saw the amazement in the other boy's eyes.

"Friend…" Blaine uttered. "I'm your… friend?" he asked.

Puck nodded. "I'm glad you like the idea. Now, how about I show you a nice place to spend the night before you turn into an icicle?"

The slave lowered his head and bit hi slip, still unsure. Puck had defended him, going as far as to hurt one of his mates. He had been nice and friendly so far, but what if he was just pretending? What if this was a ploy and the jocks were going to beat him until he died?

Seeing that the slave was hesitating, Puck got up and said: "It's up to you". He shrugged and turned to get out of the alley.

Just when he was about to turn the corner, he heard a feeble voice: "Wait".

He turned again and saw Blaine extending his hand towards him.

_If I stay here, I will surely die from the cold _the slave thought. _If Puck is lying, I'm done as well. Either way it' over for me, but there is a chance he's telling the truth, so…_

«I'd like to come with you» he said with a small smile. The other boy's smirk resirfaced as well.

Blaine tried to get up but once again he lost his balance. Fortunately, Puck was fast enough to get a hold of him.

"Looks like you have some trouble, huh, twinkle toes?"

Blaine scowled at him, making the other boy laugh. "Okay, I'll do this, but it's the first and the last time".

Before Blaine could say anything, he lifted him and held him in his arms bridal style.

"T-This is not necessary…" the slave protested but Puck interrupted him.

"It is if we want to get there before tomorrow. Just relax, we'll get to my car soon".

Blaine was convinced and snuggled closer to Puck's chest, delighted by the boy's warmth.

"Thank you very much for everything" he said, the last word turning into a yawn as his eyelids became heavier.

Puck smiled down at him. It was a sincere smile, there wasn't a single trace of the malice Blaine had seen on other people's faces when they grinned at him.

"You're welcome" the boy said. "However, you should be careful, I won't always be able to save your ass".

Blaine was almost asleep but he managed to nod a little.

Puck's smile distorted into a look of sympathy. "I guess for now you'll be fine" he whispered.

Those were the last words Blaine heard before he finally drifted into sleep.

"Blaine. Blaine".

The boy twisted as he felt a hand pulling at his arm.

"Blaine!"

He jolted awake with a gasp and looked around in fear. Kurt was at his side, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hair messy and his eyes still heavy from sleep. Seeing the boy Blaine released a slow, relieved breath and tried to relax.

"You were having another nightmare" said Kurt with a comforting smile.

Blaine looked at him and smiled too. "It wasn't exactly a nightmare… Well, a part of it was" he explained.

Kurt nodded. "Do you want me to stay here with you tonight? That would be an intriguing variation to our routine".

Blaine didn't think about that twice. "Yes, please" he answered joyfully.

He made space for Kurt and the other boy climbed onto the bed, settling under the covers.

As usual, Kurt spooned Blaine, this time stroking his hair in a soothing manner. The boy felt a warm feeling settling in his chest as he caressed the dark curls.

"Always remember that you are safe here" Kurt murmured, his breath tickling Blaine's neck and sending a shiver through the slave's spine.

Blaine nodded and closed his eyes, his lips still forming a wide smile.

Maybe the pastor was right. Maybe there was no God for him.

But he knew for sure that angels existed.

Some had styled hair, a skin perfect as porcelain and beautiful sea-blue eyes. Others came in the form of a teen with a mohawk and a leather jacket.


End file.
